Greg looked out his window and all he saw was the brilliance of the world from 40,000 feet above, around and below: thick cumulus cloud banks covered half the blue sky hiding traces of the earth from view. They were flying over Europe right now; in an hour or so, they'll be crossing the Mediterranean and then Greg will be taking his first sight of the African continent.
His body was wrought with excitement and anticipation at setting foot for the first time on African soil once his flight plane touched down at Lagos in Nigeria. But most especially he was excited about the fellow he was travelling there to meet.
Jude.
Greg turned away from the window and glanced at the middle-aged man seated beside him. They'd chatted a while earlier just as the plane took off from London. He was an expatriate worker for a multinational oil company which had a franchise base in Nigeria, which was where he too was enroute to. At the moment, he was asleep. Greg had a folded magazine beside him. It was the recent copy of BENT, a magazine that curtailed anything pertaining to gay lifestyle. Greg held it close, careful so as no one could see what he was reading—especially not the man seated beside him—and perused some of its contents. He paused to check out a centre-fold advert of a men's wear that featured four striking young men—one white, one black, one Asian-looking and the other looking every bit South American, and all of them gay, no doubt—looking hot and sexy and half-naked, hugging each other and smiling at him.
Greg ogled the photo, especially the black man in the midst. In his mind, he pictured Jude's face on him and sat back imaging what his body would look like once he got sight of it. He flipped through the magazine for a while, then when he saw a stewardess approaching folded it and hid it out of sight.
Greg was a month shy of turning twenty-nine. He was an assistant-professor in Leeds University where he taught Medieval History and for the past four months he'd been living in a conundrum of guilt and regret.
But that had ended a month ago when he met Jude.
Four months ago, Greg Landis had broken up with his erstwhile girlfriend of two years. Things hadn't been exactly rosy from the start, and it had stumbled to a climax sometime in mid-July when he'd opened up to her about his homosexuality. It hadn't been easy for him—for months he'd struggled with telling her but couldn't bring himself to. She'd begun hearing strange rumours about him and had confronted him about it. It was then he'd come out of the closet ...and it had inevitably cost him his relationship and a lot of pain in return.
During those months, Greg had felt pretty lost with himself. He'd gone about his school lecturing and had adequate time to work on the research material he was compiling regarding Viking-Scottish Ancestry in England. He had few friends, and to the few ones he knew it was impossible for him to let them in on the emotional detriment he was undergoing. The days had seemed longer to him and he'd suffered from insomnia a couple of nights.
Then he'd stumbled onto Jude—or rather, Jude had stumbled onto him—and his life had taken a turn for the better since then. Even though they lived far from each other, technology had made it possible for them to know each fast than had they been next-door neighbours.
Greg subscribed to numerous chat rooms and interacting sites online, and most of them catering towards gay lifestyle, though he was careful not to reveal his actual identity on any of his online pages, least someone in the school found him out. Of the chat rooms in Yahoo, he steered clear of gay teens, and from the numerous ones he'd carried on conversations with, neither sounded impressive to worth his attention. One Saturday afternoon, having nothing much on mind to do, he'd logged onto his Facebook page and saw that someone had left a message there for him. It was from Jude.
Jude was a part-time journalist for Nigerian Newsweek magazine and an artist and had written to Greg in response to a comment he'd posted at an online gay forum discussion. Greg had replied him and in no time, Jude had replied back. Back and forth they'd exchanged words and info with each other. Greg had found it somewhat relaxing writing to him, and noted that Jude was just as intellectual and open-minded a person as he was too. From Facebook, they hooked up with each other at Yahoo Messenger and had kept on a steady stream of correspondence. It was easy for them to set up a scheduled meeting time, both during the afternoons as well as in the evenings. When they missed each other, a simple email had taken care of that. Greg delighted in the new-found friendship he was having with his Nigerian friend and wished nothing would make it end so suddenly. About a week later, by which time they'd already exchanged photos and as much personal data of each other. Their messages began to get personal more and more.
"I'm so lonely over here," Greg had written to him.
"You're here with me, so you needn't be alone anymore," Jude replied in his message box.
"If you were here, I probably would have liked that even better."
"I'm curious, what would you have done if that were possible?"
"You mean if you were here with me?"
"Yes."
"We'll do lots of things together. I'll take you around the nightclubs and lively spots down here. You wouldn't be bored."
"Where would I sleep?" asked Jude.
Greg had smiled as he typed the words into his messenger box: "In my bed, with me lying next to you."
"You wouldn't want me to stay in a hotel?"
"Why would you, when my bed is big enough for both of us."
"I had to ask. Maybe you'd invite some other friends of yours over."
"No, I won't do that," typed Greg. "I don't have much friends, and right now you're the only one who truly understands me."
"So, we're in bed now. What would you want to do to me?"
"You know what I would do to you."
"Tell me. I want to hear you say it."
Greg's fingers paused over the keyboard. He knew what he wanted to say, and so desperate was he to say them. It was late in the night at his apartment. Through his bedroom window he could hear the sound of cars driving up and down the street. The sound of the world moving on, but here in his bedroom, Greg pictured himself cut off from it entirely. He licked his lips and smiled with glee as once again his fingers started to type.
